“It may be all right,” she admitted. “I don’t say that it isn’t. But until it is cleared up beyond a doubt, don’t you think, Darcy, you ought to come and stay with us?”
“I think not,” put in Darcy’s escort quietly. “I’m taking Miss Cole back to the Farm. If you’ve nothing further to add—”
“Nothing—now,” answered the baffled Mrs. Lee.
“Then we’ll bid you good-day.”
Safely around the curve they stopped and faced each other.
“You wonderful person!” giggled Darcy hysterically. “How did you ever think of it!” Assuming a grandiose pose he declaimed:
You may break, you may shatter, the Veyze if you will,
But the scent of the Montrose will cling to it still.
“To get down to prose, how long will it cling?” she asked thoughtfully.
“Allowing for inevitable official red tape, I should say anywhere from twenty-four hours to a month.”
“Paul Wood has a cousin in the State Department.”